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This is a question Apparently I'm a sex offender

I was once paid £15 to count the amount of people visiting a hairdresser. I stood outside for 3 hours with a clicky counter in my pocket, pressing it every time a person entered. Suddenly there's a copper in front of me, I turn and there's another behind. "What are you up to sunshine?" "A rival hairdresser wants to count the competition" "Well, there's been a call from the shop owner that there's a ginger bloke standing outside fiddling with his cock." Have you ever done anything that made strangers think you were a pervert?

(, Thu 17 Aug 2006, 22:20)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

This still makes me cringe
I was drunk on a train from Waterloo, and there were a couple of women opposite me that were clearly partners. One was a lot younger with a shaved head, and they had been to see Cats.
They weren't unattractive, particularly the younger of the two and so I had a shot at chatting them up. We made small talk and I said "It's great, isn't it, that in cosmopolitan London a lesbian couple can be so open about it".
The older women replied "I am married to a man, and this is my 12 year old son". The son looked like he was going to cry, and having ruined an evening and probably caused a lifetime of therapy for the child, I just said "I'm so so sorry" and moved to the next carriage.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 10:25, Reply)
Porno obsessed cock-whore
After uni in 1998 I got a stop-gap job at the local Airport working in the shop-cum-newsagent. Two of us had to stand in a cramped little booth and serve the masses.

As it was an airport newsagent we sold a lot of magazines, but most of all we sold a lot of porn mags, usually to businessmen who obviously spent many lonely hours furiously masturbating between business meetings.

However, because families & children frequented the shop the porn mags had to be put in these special plastic bags that covered up the cover but left the title of the magazine visible.

On my first day they had me putting a fresh batch of porn in these plastic bags. "Result!" you may think, the perfect job. Wrong...there were hundreds of the bastards to get through and for obvious reasons I couldn’t do it in clear view of the customers, I had to kneel down in the tiny booth with piles and piles of porn mags around/under me while my colleague continued to serve the airport customers. I had to work fast as the quicker I bagged the fuckers the quicker we could get them out of the booth and get some breathing space.

So there I was knelt down in a sea of porn all hot and flustered with my head at the crotch height of my work colleague who was paying more attention to the magazines than he was to his duties...

Me: "I can’t get this one in"
Colleague: "You broke your rhythm now, take it out and put it back in"
Me: "No, its almost there"
Colleague: "You'll rip it"
Me: "Can’t we swap places, I’m getting cramp in my knees"
Colleague: "I spent my first week here down there doing that, just get on with it"

"Ahem!" coughed the customer neither of us had noticed, "When you boys are done I’ll have 20 Lambert & Butler"
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 10:54, Reply)
I was sitting around the house one day watching telly in my lounge, I had pulled a big armchair with high backed sides, you know the type they use on telly, when they are reading and wearing smoking jackets etc up closer to the telly and was watching a film with a cracking sex scene in it, now being stoned out of my gord, I felt a bit horny so proceeded to get my cock out and start having a wank, there was a chorus of outraged voices at that point, and then I remembered through my druged up haze, that I was actually watching the film with 3 of my mates, and they wondered what the fuck I was doing, oh the shame.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 11:22, Reply)
I walked into the Citroen dealership in Texas, intent on purchasing a new vehicle. I felt physically sick at the thought of giving my money to the French, but I loved the Citroen symbol so much. It reminded me of a brace of albatross mating in mid-flight and never failed to make me smile. My spaniel had just been raped and murdered and I needed cheering up. So in I went.

"Good day, sir!" honked a middle-aged man with greying hair, ruddy cheeks and an American accent. I could see a tuft of silver hair protruding from his flies, and the sight warmed me.
"Hello there," I politely replied.
"Don't patronise me!" bellowed the bovine fellow. "I'll eat you for breakfast!"
I tried to run, but his transatlantic legs were simply too fast for me. He tripped me and I fell heavily before slipping from consciousness.

When I came round, the man was nailing me to the front of a brand new Citroen. He wrapped me entirely round the front end in place of the bumper, then calmly walked away.

Hours later, a young Texan woman came in to browse the selection of Citroens available. She saw me and hurried over. "What are you doing down there?" she asked.
Shamefully, I replied, "Apparently I'm a Saxo fender."


(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 12:22, Reply)
I was on the bus...
...when I noticed someone get on with their flies undone. I spent the rest of the journey agonising over whether to tell them until it was time to get off. As I pass him I say "word to the wise, your fly is undone." and point at his crotch.
As he's staring at me from the bus window as it moves away I see him pull hitherto unseen earphones from his ears meaning that basically what he remembers happening is a stranger coming up to him on a bus, and pointing at his cock.
(, Thu 17 Aug 2006, 22:40, Reply)
Kiddie fiddler
I was staying at a mate's house last year, in Bristol, and we were in the pub having a nice drink, and for some reason talking about what a crime it was that young girls seemingly aspire to dress like tarts from the age of about 10. We were, quite literally putting the world to rights, when I brazenly said, "yeah, mate, I was thinking that earlier. Your daughter's mate - cracking arse!". Now I knew what I meant. The point I was trying to illiustrate was that when 16 year-old daughter + mate had popped round to pick some stuff up earlier in the day, wearing very tight fitting, white, chavvy slut-jeans, she looked like she could well easily have been on her way to stand on a street corner or something.

"What the one in the white top?", he enquires?

"Dunno, I was too busy staring at her arse mate", says I, dialling up my blokieness to maximum.

Needless to say, his daughter's slutty mate, was actually his other daughter, who I'd never met before, who's 14. I've never felt such a cunt in my entire life.

it was quite funny though at the time. He didn't think so, and I didn't think so, but everyone else thought it was fucking hilarious.
(, Thu 17 Aug 2006, 23:13, Reply)
Young Awakenings
I was a 28 year old school-teacher in Venezuela when the mother of one of my students offered me $1000 to give her 16 year- old daughter comprehensive personal instruction in the arts of carnality.

This student was of quite spectacular beauty: large, black eyes; long, black hair, fully formed bosom, hips like Saharan dunes and full Jolie lips. Plus, $1000 dollars would pay for my planned jaunt around South America the foillowing summer. What would this cousre consist of, exactly?

"My daughter is untutored in the ways of love," said the mother. "I don't want her to have some artless fumble with a boy of her own age. They know nothing. You are a European man. You are older and more experienced. Show her everything; make her an expert - but do it without love. She can fall in love later, when she's ready."

So it was arranged. I put aside any scruples for the money. After all, it was her mother's will. The student, Maria, would visit my flat two evenigs a week and learn 'everything'. In the first meeting we stripped and I encouraged her to familiarise herself with my swollen manhood, which she did with cool and red-nailed fingers. As a product of a liberal family, she was not shy or awkward. She luxuriated in her ripe young body. In turn, I introduced her to her clitoris with a cunnilingual tutorial. She was fasinated and wanted to learn more.

In the next meeting I taught her to use her hands on me. This took some practice, but soon she had the right rhythm and grasp, and had me coming like a freight train. The semen excited her greatly and she begged me to let her practise fellation in the next 'lesson'. Her nascent sensuality was budding rapidly. It was an animal urge.

Again, it took some experimentation for her to get this right, but in no time she was using her tongue and full lips to magnificent effect, deep-throating my rigid tool and moaning for me to come in her mouth. This became one of her firm favourites, but the fascination with semen also impelled her to require that I come on her face and breasts as often as possible.

By now penetration held no fear for her. She wanted to try everything. I suggested the misionary position as a first-time position, but she wanted it bent over my writing desk. She was tight, but horse-riding had broken her hymen and she was soaking wet having already been licked comprehensively. Enraged by the sight of her beautiful ass, I'm afraid I pumped her too aggressively, but she thrust back against me with great enthusiasm, moaning "fill me! fill me!" in her breathy language. I did.

For the next few weeks we perfected her technique and it got to the stage where she could handle me like a pro. Her hands, her tongue, her ever-wet dell drove me crazy. She'd enter the flat, shrug off her clothes and take me in her mouth. She luxuriated in her power over me, her 'teacher'.

The anal route was inevitable. She'd been begging me for weeks. When the time came, she brought a crystal dildo with her to the 'lesson' and asked to fill both holes at once: "Come in my ass while you fill me with this toy," she pleaded. She moaned. She cried. And her orgasm was a supernatural thing.

The lessons ended abruptly. I received my payment and a bonus too. I never saw her again, but I think of those countless Venezuelan men who have benefited. And I realise that I broke my one rule - not to fall in love with her.

(, Mon 21 Aug 2006, 14:01, Reply)
nearly a sex offender
A few years ago while i was still at school we had this fit science teacher who every lad and a few girls who would love to have there way with her.in one lesson i was so horney and needed a wank so bad (i hadnt had 1 for a day) and fortuanly i got sent to the back of the class for been a little bastard, i dunno why but the teacher shouting at me was turning me on so i unzipped my fly to let the snake out. So there i am playing with my cock when teacher ask me a question i just stared (i was in shock) then luckly another teacher came in to talk to her giving me time to zip back up i didnt get caught but it was close if that teacher didnt come in i'll probably be getting arse rammed in showers today for been a sexual predator.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 12:20, Reply)
In the summer holidays from uni a few (more than i would like) years ago my dad left for work telling me that there was a man coming to the house to survey the roof so he could estimate a cost for retiling, etc.

He said that I wasn't to fall back to sleep or listen to loud music and that i should be viligantly listening for the tell tale doorbell sound that accompanies aforementioned roofer being at the front door - patronising twunt.

Anyways during that mornings bath and whilst washing my hair (lots of it at this point - student after all) i swore i heard the distant echo of the doorbell.

So I ran out of the bathroom grabbed an unfathomably small towel from the radiator and ran to the front door. No-one there.

Only a man walking away from the house and down the road. In a panic and thinking i would be in trouble with my dad i shouted down the road at the man

Of course he was just a member of her majestys public walking happily down the road nothing to do with our roof!

The expression on the mans face as he turned around to see a soapy wet naked man, covering himself with only a flannel asking him if he wanted him will haunt me for the rest of my life.

I should probably be on a list at the Daily Mail.
(, Wed 23 Aug 2006, 14:48, Reply)
Wrong thing to say...
Back in the day before I had children of my own, I would occasionally visit a friend who had a little girl called Lauren who was about 4 at the time.

One day, while wandering through town, my friend announced that she needed to pop into the post office, and asked would I wait outside with Lauren. While her mother was gone, Lauren decided that I *needed* to know that she was wearing some new underwear.

"Would you like to see my knickers?" she asked at top volume outside a very busy Post Office. Flustered, and not wanting to be seen in public looking at a young girl's knickers, I replied "No, let's wait until we get home".

Possibly not the right thing to say judging by the looks of passers-by.
(, Wed 23 Aug 2006, 12:31, Reply)
Monster On A Boat!
I was on a cruise around the Caribbean, I went into a shop in Antigua and while I was browsing around I heard one of the 'locals' tell her unruly kid that: "If you don't behave one of the bad white men from the big boat will steal you away."

Obviously too good an opportunity to pass up, I waited until the mother wasn't looking then did my best 'monster' pose (scary face, both hands raised like claws) and went RRRAAAAA! right in his little face.

I swear that his feet actually left the ground, unfortunately he also screamed hysterically and ran out of the shop followed by his mother yelling at him to stop and then beating him all the way up the road.

(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 3:31, Reply)
I used to be a teacher
but then this picture got about on the interweb

(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 13:36, Reply)
Two tales of pseudo fiddling
While working as a teacher in China, I was always mildly amused to be followed by a group of six or more girls who wanted to practise their English. I asked them one day, "Are you all best friends? You're never apart!"

They looked embarrassed and one of them confessed: "Our principal told us that all Western men are immoral. We must only greet you in groups of six or more, or you will rape us." Absolutely true.

When teaching in Greece, I accepted an invitation to a 16 year-old female student's house so her family could thank me for her exam passes. After the meal, the girl vanished and returned to to the living room wearing a skintight ensemble that showed her every crevice. She was nubile to the point of meltdown nubility.

I tried not to look, but her father egged me on: "Look at her ass! That's fine body isn't it? What do you think of her body?"

I mumbled some platitudes and ran home to masturbate frenetically. I developed an unsavoury reputation in that town shortly afterwards.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 15:29, Reply)
"Milky Milky"
I used to work at the head office of a nation chain of tyre fitters that rhymes with "Motor Gay". On the way home of an evening, I made a habit of popping into the well-stocked newsagents round the corner for something to read on the train home.

On one occasion, and in a blazing hurry to make the station, I grabbed my usual title from the shelf, paid and *just* made the packed train, clutching my prize to my chest.

It was only then that I realised that I had not picked up my usual music mag, but a publication called "Milk Maids", ninety-six pages in praise of large-chested and lactating young ladies in various erotic, milky poses.

Standing room only, I couldn't even change carriages to escape the pitiful stares of my fellow commuters; and apart from that time with the accidental public nudity, it was the longest eight minute train ride of my life.

Anyone want a skank mag? Free...
(, Mon 21 Aug 2006, 11:29, Reply)
operation cluster fuck
when i was a second year student living in college owned accommodation it was part of the deal that, if we wanted to keep our shared flat for more than a year, the first years sent to look round it had first refusal.

wanting very much to avoid the bother of moving and to keep our group of 2 (extremely fit) girls, 3 boys plus assorted partners, we decided the most effective short to long term strategy would be a three pronged attack designed to make our visitors feel as uncomfortable as possible in the shortest amount of time while remaining apparently, or atleast effectively, innocent as to motive; decreasing the chance of them leaving with a good impression while also leaving little room for independent judgement, and possessing little or no credible or relevant complaint for the college authorities.

moving all the beds into the lounge, we pushed them together, got into various states of undress, and coiled ourselves around one another to wait for their arrival.

obvious and, in the rather permissive zeitgeist of university, perhaps even too tame an impression to truly disrupt the subject so, understanding that good persuasion technique dictates that it is the subtle, unspoken, subconscious impressions that ultimately make or break the more direct assertions, "just enough to be noticeable" make-up was applied to the males, groans of mass ecstacy executed at precisely calculated pitch and volume were immediately stifled as the front door opened; the bathroom being the first room of the house, three tubs of "assumedly innocent but unusual enough to register" vaseline were lined up on the rim of the bath, and the lounge doorknob was given an "apparently accidental but generous" coating of grease.

on entering the dim and by now extremely close atmosphere of the lounge, to our untwitchingly innocent and ever-so-slightly-over-friendly bemusement, our visitors invariably made their excuses and immediately scarpered.

we managed to keep the flat but, alas, not our souls :)
(, Sat 19 Aug 2006, 13:39, Reply)
It's A Bad Man, Daddy!
Scuse the annoying amount of backstory, but behind my parents house is a little bit of a field and the continuation of a bridle path that cuts the entire estate in half. This used to be a quaint little rutted path virtually overgrown with bushes and trees that all the locals used to walk their dogs along. Until the council had the genius idea of concreting the bastard and turning into a shiny, six foot wide super charver highway. Now the people walking dogs have mostly gone, replaced by drunken teenagers, gangs of hoody wearers and the occasional pikey twat on one of those hair-dryer powered mini-bike things that make a noise like concorde taking off. Now along the length of this path, many of the houses have back gates to allow access which, after it was covered in tarmac, basically became the preferred entrance for pikey burglar scum. As a result, almost everyone, including my parents, have locked up their gates, pulled out the homemade steps and let the weeds and nettles overgrow the little bank between them and the path to hide from the charvers.

Right. Now I've covered myself in excuses in case the police are still looking for me, I can get on with the actual story.

Being that no damn charver scum is going to interfere with my laziness, I came out of my parents house and headed for the back gate on my way to the pub (natch). As I was unlocking the gate I heard something both wonderous and weird. There were voices to be heard from the path, not those of charvers though, but of an actual human family. My heart rejoiced. As I was taking off the padlock I heard the father warn his daughter (oddly named Irana, no idea if that's how you spell it) not to wander too far away. Good for him, I thought. It was starting to get dark and you never know what kind of weirdo you're going to run into on that path. Silly me. With the gate finally opened and then closed behind me I did a quick reccy of the state of the hill down to the path. It was only about six foot but, from what I could see of the places the nettles hadn't overgrown the top step was still there, the next one consisted of one moss covered housebrick and the bottom step had disappeared completely and had been replaced by a mini mud slide. No problem, I thought, first is easy and enough balance on the second to be able to jump over the mud and nettles should see me safely down. I readied myself and promptly tripped off the top step. Excellent, I thought as I tried to land on the second 'step' and succeeded in doing nothing more than catching my toe on it and tipping myself face first into the mud. Splendid, I mused as I did a barrel roll through said mud. But Hooray, I thought, as I at least managed to get my hands up in front of my face to protect my eyes even though it meant stinging the hell out of my arms on the nettles as I did so. But, even better, I somehow managed to commando roll the last bit and spring up onto my feet.

It was about then that the screaming started.

"IRANA. GET BACK HERE. NOW!!!" I heard the man shout in angry terror as, twenty feet up the path from him, a mud covered pervert seemingly jumped out of the bushes right next to his beloved little girl, rubbing his arms at her furiously and muttering a constant stream of swearwords. I could only look at him, shocked and bemused. My attention quickly turned back to Irana, however, as, after getting over the initial shock of me looming out of the bushes at her, had clearly decided she was having the time of her life. She pointed at me and shouted, oddly, in a voice totally filled with excitement. "Look Daddy! It's a bad man! It's a bad man, Daddy!" As if she'd heard about these bad men but never thought she would ever actually get to see one. And now she had she sounded as if all her birthdays had come at once! I didn't have a fucking clue what to do at this point so did my best to flash a reassuring smile at the father. Due to the agony of my battered, mud covered body, however, I've got a horrible feeling it probably looked more like a sneer. Sensing there was little I could do to improve this situation, I simply waved and walked off, leaving a bewildered family, huddling together, the father noticing the gate from which I had come and hopefully figuring out what the fuck had just happened and not ringing the police. That didn't stop me sitting at the pub, covered in mud and shitting myself the entire night, waiting for them to come and arrest me like.
(, Sat 19 Aug 2006, 9:50, Reply)
Jesus Titty-Sucking Christ...
I was about three weeks into my first job as a waiter at the tender age of 16 and doing ok. Polite, friendy, good with customers - things were looking good. Anyway, one night I was dealing with a large table of about 10 people, one being a new mum with a baby in a car seat on the floor.

Their food went out course by course and I applied my best tip-winning charm as I dished out meals and returned empty plates. It was pretty busy so I didn't have loads of time to chat, but I made a mental note to say something flattering about kid to the proud mum. Women love that for some reason...

By the time I took their bill over, the baby had woken up and was in it's Mothers' arms. I seized the moment, stood next to her, looking down at the kid as I attempted to say "Oooh! What a lovely Baby."

Only I didn't quite manage the full sentence. No.

After the "Ooooh!" I got distracted by the pair of bare-naked breasts hanging out of the woman's blouse. I stood with my chin on the floor for what felt like an hour staring at them; trying to apologise with no words leaving my mouth - which, to eveyone round the table, must have looked like I was imagining sucking on them myself.

I literally ran away and hid.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 18:47, Reply)
In South Australia I was born, heave away, haul away

I actually went to Oz once. When I arrived they searched my stuff and asked if I had a criminal record. I said "Is one still necessary?"

A large number of people in Australia have criminal records, but that's not so much due to our convict past, as to the stricter laws in Australia as compared to Britain. For example, in Australia shooting Brazilians is illegal.
(, Sat 19 Aug 2006, 2:29, Reply)
Filthy, dirty bastard
About four years ago two friends and I were waiting in a New York subway station for a train after a night out. I was nervous enough(with all the things you hear about such places) when my anxiety levels rocketted through the roof as I clocked a very tall, mental and strong looking guy having a tug on the platform.

He was stood slightly back so that most people facing the tracks couldn't see him. Even so, plenty had noticed and were ignoring him. He was drooling with his pants around his arse and staring intently at a group of oblivious girls. When he noticed that I was looking (agog) at him he fixed his gaze on me and entered into a staring competition, still tugging merrily away (Obviously, he had no prefernce for gender). It seemed like he was scrutinising my very soul.

Looking him in the eye was a mistake. I was hypnotised. Frozen in the gaze of the Medusa. You've never known confusion until you've been eyeballed by a wanking mentalist.

The usual fight or flight reactions deserted me and I was under his spell, rooted to the spot, all the time thinking 'surely he's embarrassed and will stop.' Thank God the train came.

He's probably still there - looking intense and flogging his pud.

Okay, so it wasn't me who was the sex pest, but I still felt dirty afterwards.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 16:02, Reply)
A policeman threatened to arrest me and put me on the sex offenders register
On one angry, tequila-fuelled night I may well have ended up mooning traffic outside the pub, only for the second car to come past to illuminate my buttocks in a flashing blue light.

I'm not a huge fan of the police to start with*, and the copper that got out was, to my mind, the very worst sort - short, young and mouthy (his female partner it has to be said was actually very professional). The conversation probably started going down hill when he asked "what if that had been my granny driving down here?" and I replied "I think she'd have been quite turned on".

When I was asked for ID, the only thing I had was some mock-business cards my friend had made me for my birthday with "Gothic Sex Icon" written on them which I suspect didn't help my cause.

Anyway, to cut a short story shorter; he went on to threaten to put me on the sex offenders register which seemed a bit harsh, and ended up him telling me I had a small penis, me calling him a cunt and the female officer dragging him back to the van and the 2 of them leaving.

*I was a hippy when I was a teenager and came from a small rural town.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 8:01, Reply)
Mummy, those ladies are staring at me funny...
Oh god, I’ve had to drag this one of the ‘repressed memories’ box… I was on holiday with a friend a couple of years back, proper cheap last-minute job, two weeks in Corfu staying in a grotty beetle infested apartment in a run down resort. There were about 5 bars in the town; needless to say, we were in them every night. Getting drunk was the only way to cope with the relentless boredom. One evening we were sat outside one of the more popular, family orientated bars, getting absolutely lashed. There was a karaoke competition in full swing, with a fine selection of chavs belting out Whitney Houston and shit R’n’B covers. Fairly late on, a girl, about 10 years old, gets up to sing. And she’s picked ‘My heart will go on’ from Titanic; sung by everyone’s favourite horse-faced French Canadian lyric murderer, Celine Dion. She nervously picks up the mike, clears her throat and… launches into one of the most painful renditions of this song I have ever had the misfortune to endure in my 32 years on this planet. But bless, she tried. My pal leans over to me and slurs “You know what, Rak, we should congratulate her. I mean, she was shit, but she had guts, you know?” “Thass a grea’ idea. Let’s buy her a drink.” So we call the waitress over and ask her to deliver a coca-cola to the girl at her table and to say it’s from the two ladies over by the bar to commend her on her performance.

The drink duly gets delivered and the girl’s parents are in conversation with the waitress who steps aside to gesticulate in our direction to indicate that we’d bought the drink. Unfortunately what the parents saw was two incredibly drunk 30 year old women apparently leering over their ten year old daughter. They grabbed their offspring by the arm and stormed out of the bar. My pal looks at me in horror, then bellows “My god, they thought we were lesbian paedos.” “Well, the whole bar do now…” We spent the rest of the night crying in a mixture of hysteria and shame.

She made me promise on pain of death never to repeat this to anyone. But I’m only telling you. It’ll be our special little secret….
(, Tue 22 Aug 2006, 13:04, Reply)
I used to go to a swimming pool...
...where instead of one changing room for ladies and one for gents, it was one huge room split into cubicles. Some clever chap thought it was a good idea to drill holes through the cubicles walls for spying. I looked through one of the holes to find an eye staring straight back at me. God knows how long that fucking pervert was watching me wank over the lady undressing on the opposite side.
(, Mon 21 Aug 2006, 10:17, Reply)
Whilst at school

I got caught shagging a 6th former behind the bike shed, got a warning for getting a blowjob off a Year 10 student, and got sent home early once for spying into the girls changing room. It was when I got caught red handed wanking into a bunsen burner that I was promptly sacked and told I could never teach again in London.
(, Sat 19 Aug 2006, 21:31, Reply)
Manly Protection
One evening, my neighbor started screaming. A Peeping Tom was observing her from the bushes in the alley outside her bedroom window. In a panic, she came over to my apartment for manly protection. I locked her in, she called the police, and I went out into the alley to locate and confront the pervert.

So, who was the only one in the alley when the police helicopter and the canine units arrived?
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 19:37, Reply)
I was caught at uni
I was caught shagging a gorgeous blonde girl in my year, from behind, over her car bonnet, in a really quiet spot behind the sports centre at uni.

Two workmen came along the track in a white ford escort van.

"Don't stop on our account!.."

They said, laughing, as we both tried to cover our modesty.

Not really in the spirit of the question I know.

I just like telling that story.
(, Fri 18 Aug 2006, 9:21, Reply)
takes me back
15 years old, playing tennis with my brother and his mates, one of whom had a fairly unpleasant Yamaha 250 - basically a Harley ripoff with chopper handlebars and a really low seat.

As it was a fairly hot day, and we were out in the countryside, after a couple of sets I took his bike for a run to cool down a bit.

I passed a couple of cars in the first mile, and couldn't help but notice that every occupant was pointing and staring at me as they came towards me, looking kind of shocked.

Took me another mile or two to figure that, because of the riding position of the bike (big petrol tank obscuring my crotch), and the fact that I was wearing only a pair of tan shorts, trainers and a helmet, I must have looked like I was tootling about the country on a big motorbike with my bits flapping.

Happy days indeed.
(, Thu 17 Aug 2006, 23:35, Reply)
Tame by comparison, you pack of preverts!
After a glorious Friday night on the juice with the lads, I attempted to make up for it (as promised) with a romantic night spent attempting to please 'her indoors'. All was going swimmingly, nice indian meal washed down with a bottle or three of overpriced grape-juice. She even managed to crack a smile once or twice, I could see that cheky little glimmer of success sin her eye and knew things would improve vastly once we got home.

It was in the taxi, however that things started to go awry. That tasty curry-roast labrador must've had a disagreement with last night's scabby-cat-in-a-pitta-bread and they began chasing around my battered intestines. With those two greasy animal carcasses sloshing around in the remnants of the previous nights guiness invasion and marinading themselves in chateau-condemned, something had to give. It started at the top first, with a belch that Grandad would've thought drifted from a trench in the Somme. I managed to pass that off with the swift consumption of several of the mints presented to me with the bill earlier.
Casa del Greencloud was eventually reached, and the cabbie received a rather generous tip due to my desperate urge to splurge and reluctance to wait for change from the skoda driving pikey twunt. She's still rather keen, and lingers for several minutes of 'heavy petting' on the doorstep before entering the lurve palace (don't know why - we've lived together for years - perhaps that nosy biatch over the road was watching and my lustful queen wanted to give the old net-twitcher something to watch?!)
I eventually managed to get her into the bedroom and by this time, I didn't even want sex anymore - my only desire was for her to put the babywipes in the fridge while I evacuate my riotous bowel. But being eager to please and still attempting redemption for my boyish shenanigans, I decided she could have a quickie before I depart to the porcelain throne.
It was then it came, I bent over further than I really should have in my attempt to speeden things up with a bout of cunnilingus and the beast escaped.
The sound was that of a 52 piece brass band simultaneously coughing into their mouth-pieces, the vibration was enough to rattle the over-sized Ikea prints on the far side of the wall. Her face looked like she just found me in a swordid frisson with her grandparents. My only saving grace was that I somehow managed to avoid redecorating the room with my tan-emulsion.
Needless to say my slumber was not of the highest quality that fateful evening. After an un-fathomable amount of time on the pot (no cooled baby wipes for this bad lad - I'm surprised she didn't swipe the quilted velvet for my crime!) I managed a couple of hours squeezed onto our sofa (2 seater - I'm 6"3').

Sex - Rarely nowadays
Offender - I certainly did.

No joke relating to excessive length (it could only be measured in volume - how long would 12 pints be?)
(, Wed 23 Aug 2006, 16:07, Reply)
Oh forgot this one till now
The terrible scourge of cocaine is also found in the smallest towns of Scotland like Edinburgh.

Now I'd not taken any gak for almost 12 years but it was a nite out with youngsters and they seemed keen - so obvn. I wasn't going to let the side down and look like an old fogie. Invited along for a short trip to the bogs with my new best friend James, I went along to watch the inevitable routine of crush, cut and scrap.

A popular pub with a youth audience that did not want to lose its licence I was not aware, and neither was James, that the bouncers and owners kept a close watch on who went in to the toilets and how long. Given we had been a full 15 mins a rather stocky gentleman was dispatched to come see what we were doing; thankfully a bit late.

I got out the main bog door in time but he collared James. "So what were you two doing in there together?" he enquired in his best intimidating voice.

Without a beat James was inspired - "I was giving him a blow-job. What about it? You homophobic?"

Clever boy.

(My length was not needed - James was making it up)
(, Mon 21 Aug 2006, 20:28, Reply)
Oh deary me!
So the 9 day long Hindu festival of Navratri started, and I had some work to do in the local Indian community's temple. I took a young scrote with me to give me a hand, foot the ladder etc, and drilled into him the need to show respect, remove his shoes, not to take the piss, and basically to behave, upon pain of a royal kicking.

Things were progressing swimmingly, the work was quickly and easily finished, and out of respect for my clients, we sat down to watch the proceedings for a while.

These proceedings consisted of 100 or so people chanting, singing, bells, drums, and dancing - standard religious festival stuff, I imagine. After some time, we were brought a couple of small bags of dried fruit and nuts which I wolfed down.
My young slave, sorry, apprentice, wasn't quite as greedy as me, and had plenty left, so I reached across and pinched some. Much to his annoyance, I did it again. And again. He shouted his displeasure at me over the building crescendo of the ceremony.
Once again, I leaned over to pilfer a few peanuts. Suddenly, the prayer/chant came to an end, at the exact same time he bellowed :

"Will you get your hands off my nuts!!!!!"

Every single person in that temple span round to see me, evil infidel English pig-dog, defiling their holy ceremony by apparently leaning over and interfering with this youth.

We made our excuses and left, though he had to support me, I was too weak from laughing to walk properly.
(, Mon 21 Aug 2006, 20:23, Reply)
Dead funny
Many moons ago, whilst working in a busy pub, I began to notice more and more of the clientele staring at me in what I imagined to be awe and respect due to my obviously superior bearing. Nothing had been said, people were literally sitting at the bar, gawping at me. Most strange.

Later on, I mentioned this to a colleague, who blithely said :
"Ah, that'll be because the boss was telling them about your 'condition'....."

My 'condition'??? Pardon??

After further investigation, I had to take my boss aside and ask that if she was going to discuss my problems with all sundry, that she kindly remember to tell them that I was "NARCOLEPTIC", not, as she had been broadcasting, "NECROPHILIAC" .
(, Mon 21 Aug 2006, 20:05, Reply)

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